My father wasn’t much of a cook but he always washed the dinner dishes and took pride in his work. It was my job to dry and put them away.
Sometimes we listened to the ball game on the radio and other times we talked about my homework—which always came after dishes and before television. One night, I noticed that a plate had some food left on it and I handed it back to my father.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“You didn’t get it clean,” I said.
“A good drier never finds food on a plate,” he said.